Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

“Screwball,” Gumby said as the meaning behind the name became obvious.

Another nod. “My mom’s favorite thing to call me when she was pissed over my antics.”

An unexplainable urge to pull Screw into his arms and tell him he got it formed in Gumby. His own childhood was just as nightmarish. Maybe even more so. Though their response to their tortured teenage years differed, Gumby knew what it was to hide as well. He’d hidden his sexuality his entire life. Fuck, he still hid as Screw did behind his gags.

Self-preservation was a powerful motivator.

“I get it. It makes a lot of sense, Screw. Why tell me now?”

“Copper made me enforcer.” He ran a hand across his mouth. Gumby didn’t mention how he noticed the quiver in those fingers. Screw’s vulnerability was a gift he most likely didn’t give to anyone, so Gumby would treat that gift with respect.

“He placed his trust in me to keep the club safe. It’s more responsibility than I’ve ever had. More than I’ve ever wanted. A side effect of never taking anything seriously is that no one ever took me seriously. I’ve coasted through life fucking anything that walks and having a blast doing it.”

Another piece of the puzzle fit into place. A large piece. Gumby would be lying if he said what he was learning didn’t make him want Screw even more. “And now you have a very heavy weight on your shoulders.” So much made sense now. Why he hid behind jokes and tricks. Why he always appeared to be playing.

“Yes,” he said giving a solemn nod. “And for the first time, I want it. I want to prove to my president and my brothers that I’m worthy of their trust and their brotherhood.”

“Screw…”

“But I’m scared as fuck.”

Five little words was all it took for Gumby to forgive every sin the man had committed. He’d bet money on the fact the man had never admitted that to anyone, never opened himself up to another person. And Screw had chosen him.

Why?

They fell silent for a moment until Gumby reached out and threaded his fingers though Screw’s. It was the first time he’d willingly touched the man outside of their sexual encounters and instead of bringing fear and panic, it felt…right to comfort the aching man. “What are you scared of, Luke?”

The anguish in Screw’s eyes had him holding his breath. “Being nothing more than what everyone thinks I am. A fuckup. A joke. Even though I made my own bed, I’m fucking terrified I’ll be lying in it for the rest of my life.”

Now it made sense, why he was willing to risk his president’s wrath to get the inside scoop on the Chrome Disciples. The new enforcer had something to prove. Or at least he thought he did. Hopefully, Gumby could help him realize he didn’t need to save his entire club by himself to be more than valuable to his brothers.

“I don’t think you’re a joke.”

Screw snorted and rolled his eyes but didn’t extradite his hand.

Gumby gave him a squeeze. “I’m serious. Last night…you were exactly what Jazz needed.” Their gazes locked. “You were exactly what I needed.”

Electricity crackled between them as Screw’s gaze morphed from cold and aloof to heated desire. But this wasn’t the time or the place, and Gumby had already leapt so far out of his comfort zone he feared he might never find his way back again. Another physical encounter would only fuck with his head further.

“You have good instincts, and I trust them. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t. You need to trust them too. But you also need to remember the title of Enforcer doesn’t make you an island. You want to be worthy of the brotherhood you need to trust in the brotherhood as much as they trust in you.”

The only response Gumby received was a silent nod before Screw faced front again, but he didn’t sweat it. The other man clearly needed a few minutes to process. And he could have it.

After shifting the truck into drive, Gumby pulled out onto the single lane highway. Another mile into the trip, a quiet, “Thank you,” came from Screw.

“I meant it. So…how we gonna play this? We’ll be pulling up in under five.”

“I filled you in on my encounter with the CDMC’s prospect, Squirt, right?”

With a nod, Gumby navigated a particularly sharp mountain curve. “Yeah, you told him you live in Knoxville and have a cabin out here to escape the city sometimes. You’re a bike freak but never been in an MC. You don’t know shit about the Handlers beyond their reputation.”

“Right. So we’re playing it as two weekend warriors from Knoxville. Interested in club life but not quite built for it.” He shrugged and scratched at his beard. “I thought about pushing it and seeing if I could prospect, but it’s too fucking risky. Tonight’s gonna be dicey enough. I’m just hoping to find some loose lipped idiot who’ll blab something about their weapons trafficking or their plans for my club.”